


Chassé

by Nightmist



Series: Aymeric/Estinien Ship Week 2020 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: An unspoken vocabulary, Estimeric Week (Final Fantasy XIV), Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, dance, gala - Freeform, quiet revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: For Estimeric week 2020, prompt "Gala"Estinien returns to Ishgard sometime vaguely post 5.2 (no spoilers), gets dragged to a formal event, and shares a dance.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: Aymeric/Estinien Ship Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1871575
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34
Collections: Estimeric Week 2020





	Chassé

He only meant to return briefly, guilt over the deluge of letters and linkpearl calls, half-unanswered, that had awaited him when he emerged from Garlemald. It would not be unreasonable, he thought, to at least let Aymeric _see_ that he was well before he left again. He had not bargained for the Lord's invariably full schedule, nor his arriving on the night of an engagement party for the daughter and son of… He may have stopped listening by that point, somehow swept up in the tide of preparations and finding himself pressed into formalwear and polished up by the Borel household staff. 

(He lets himself ignore the question of why they had a suit fitted to him already. He has no doubt whatever meager possessions he had left behind when he fled Ishgard, Aymeric has kept them all tucked away safe for him, and his friend is far from above paying someone to use them as models to expand his wardrobe.)

Amidst the swirl of colors and fine fabrics, he at least feels halfway himself in muted deep blue and grey, tone on tone in a way that he hopes lets him fade into the background. At least until he is found by the one whose coattails he rode in on, a gloved hand extended in fine white, Aymeric shining and resplendent, bright blue and gold and white, the sun in the summer sky. "Dance with me."

"Last I checked, that tended not to go over well, never mind that I am the one who nearly destroyed the city. Do you really want to be seen with me given that?" Estinien cannot fully hide the fluidity of anger and shame in his voice, bitter and harsh even beyond his usual growl.

In contrast, Aymeric is calm, steadied, unbothered by the harsh wash of Estinien's emotions. "Look around the room more carefully. Such petty concerns as stopping yourself from enjoying the company of friends are fading, in this new Ishgard we build."

The dragoon lets his eyes finally sweep the crowd for more details than generalities, and he slowly realizes that the Lord Speaker is not misleading him. More than a few pairs of the same gender dot the floor, paired men or women engaged in lively conversation. Oh, there is no obvious romantic connotations, but given the strict rules of etiquette, there rarely ever were with the mixed couples either. Well. That is new. Still… "That does not change that I am the one who fell to weakness and undid so much of what I worked towards before I was stopped. Ishgard will not forgive me of that, and I will not have it wear off onto you."

"An Ishgard that holds no forgiveness for you is not an Ishgard I can abide in, Estinien." How can anyone else watching not _see_ the naked devotion in those ice blue eyes, he wonders. How is it not as clear to everyone else as it always has been to him, that Aymeric would be dedicated and determined and it had been up to him to hold it at bay. He failed, sometimes, but he had _tried_ , tried to let grief and rage and frustration hold him from falling too far into his sentiments.

And then he had gone out into the rest of the world, seeking to track down and end remnants of Nidhogg's maddened grief. He had left the ruins at home in Aymeric's hands, justifying it as leaving it with the one more capable of it. Now, he wonders how much of that was due to his own fear and guilt that he was not ready to face yet. Wordless, he swallows, then as carefully as a snowflake landing, he lays his hand atop Aymeric's palm, letting him lead him onto the dance floor.

He had learned the steps, at least; the Azure Dragoon could largely avoid social entanglements, and everyone knew he was raised as peasant stock, so some failures were excused as inevitable due to his "poor breeding". (Even now, even amidst all their eyes, dancing hand in hand with the man they hold most highly, he feels it keenly, the _judgement_ , as much from himself as from them, but now, he only lets it steel his spine, keep him unbowed and daring.) As they settle into the steps and muscle memory takes over, Estinien relaxes, listens as Aymeric waits for him to open up, prattling on good naturedly about the changes the Houses are making, the ones he hopes for, his ideas and hopes. Part of him knows he should say more, weigh in, offer insight or critique, but it is a shock to realize how very _dearly_ he has missed these moments, when he could savor his silence against the contrast of Aymeric's warm, rich voice, lose himself in the soothing rhythm of it and the wild light of hope that always shone through from deep within.

The music starts to slow, the steps shift, and he knows their time is running low; he might steal another dance later, but too many in a row has always been a scandal. The idea of losing even this small intimacy constricts his ribs to tight bands that strain like dragon claws wrap'd 'round his torso, and a sudden forthrightness is pushed forth, like water squeezed from a skin. 

"Perhaps. If you have a place for me. I could stay a little while and see what has changed." He knows there is a place; never in all the letters, all the linkpearl calls he listened to and answered with vague grunts and evasions, had Aymeric ever failed in telling him. _Come home to Ishgard, when you are ready. I keep a room prepared for you. You are always, always welcome, my dearest friend._ Then they would both pretend not to hear the words unwritten or unsaid that all that implied: _I miss you. **I** will always have a place for you._

Aymeric is so startled that he half-stumbles on the next turn and for once, it is Estinien's grace covering for his partner's clumsy feet, rather than the reverse. The hollow in his chest echoes, recognizing the error for what it was; an expression of surprise and shock at his acceptance, at a hope held onto without hope suddenly being relented to and met with what has long been dreamed of. He owes Aymeric this much. He owes _himself_ this much, to find out what might have been, if fear and anger and shame had not guided his hand for so many years then the months that followed, wandering alone or accompanied by dubious allies. 

The music slows to a stop and a young noblewoman comes to cut in and steal his partner; before letting go, he squeezes the hand holding his, fingers parting in a slow slide that holds onto even that meager touch as their eyes meet. There is nothing to be said that can be said, here and now, but as midnight and the brightest sun-lit sky meet, he can at least know that his bear promises and a hesitant hope that he sees reflected. Then Aymeric is whirled away and Estinien retreats to his lurking against the wall, finding that he no longer minds the waiting so very much.

After all, it seems that tonight, he will have a home to return to.

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, consider [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) if you enjoy reading or writing FFXIV fic or want to find me to scream at me about something.


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